


Fortunate

by Candentia



Series: Eorzean Holidays [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candentia/pseuds/Candentia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alphinaud's day had been trying enough without matchmakers getting involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortunate

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, Lord. Here I am again. I will ship WoL/Everyone forever at this pace. Written and posted long after the event was over, obviously, but after 3.2 I needed something fluffy and cute. May be part one of a themed series.

“There does seem to be a terrible crush of people this day.” That’s putting it _mildly_ in the most pragmatic tone that Alphinaud can manage seeing as he has to dodge elbows as a mass of men and women crowd around them, all heading towards the upper plaza. Frowning at them doesn’t cease their callous _joie de vivre_ for no one takes much notice of him, and not for the first time does Alphinaud curse his height. Inwardly.

His companion, to a degree of infuriating casualness that’s somehow simultaneously soothing, merely cocks her head to the side and dodges all of the shoving and pushing. Making it look like no effort at all. Alphinaud would be very cross at this unfairness of life if she weren’t the Warrior of Light and seemed destined to on a daily wrestle with fake gods. If she could sidestep a landslide by the primal of earth itself, then seemingly the chaos of Limsa Lominsa is altogether too easy to manage.

“Oh, for the-- wait for me below, if it would please you?” The carousing mob is heading where _they_ need to go, and Alphinaud cannot trust himself to maintain a gentlemanly attitude in front of her for much longer. She shrugs and says something back to him that’s lost to the sudden roar of cheering and jeering that makes the sandy arena of Ul’dah seem as quaintly quiet as a tea party.

Mischief quirks her lips and she shrugs again before ducking back into The Drowning Wench. Alphinaud steels his shoulders, glances about to ascertain that there is no acquaintance watching him and then shoves himself into the fray. It is not graceful and it is not pretty, and he finds himself at a loss to avoid bumping into people, not that they mind. A woman even wraps a beefy arm around him, breath smelling of ale, and drags him precariously close to her bosom.

“K’erful little lad! Y’ll lose yer sweetling lurchin’ into strangers like that!”

Alphinaud suffers from a sudden loss of blood from his head followed swiftly by a hot blush that leaves him confused and lightheaded. “Ah. Y-yes. As you say. Pray excuse me.” He manages to disengage and fair makes a break for it, rushing out of the moving flow right before the steps that lead up to the Aftcastle, finding relief on the bridge towards Maelstrom Command.

Heavens forfend. He knows he’s been gone from Limsa for many long months but it surely wasn’t always as thus? He shakes his head and tries to right his clothing, and only from his relatively peaceful vantage point does he come to notice the city is festooned in hearts, with pink and red ruling ignominiously from everywhere. Alphinaud has no words to properly convey how garish it all is and even less certain of what it all actually _is_. So he turns on his heel sharply and ducks into the Command.

He retrieves what they came to the pirate’s city for, and tucks the report under an arm. Truly it is a welcome wonder that things have not gone to pieces during the… unfortunate hiatus of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, that the summoning of the Primals has been allayed so far. According to the Maelstrom intelligence officers there are no signs that Leviathan will stir again any time soon and good news are made all the more precious for their scarcity as of late.

When he turns around to leave he is ambushed. Alphinaud warily takes two steps back, unsure for the protocol when one is accosted by people wearing such indelible attire.

“Hello! Good morning!” The Elezen woman cheerfully thrusts cards in front of his face. “Would you like to participate in this year’s Valentione’s Day celebration? If you’ve a lovely young lass or lad in your life, discover what fate holds in store for you!”

“Or if you’ve merely had your eye on them.” The man adds, not quite as vividly enthused about the pitch as his companion but altogether still too invested for Alphinaud’s comfort.

“Valentione’s Day…?” Damn him and his curiosity; he should have kept his mouth shut. In his defense, however, he’s equal parts bewildered and horrified that strangers are coming up to him all of the sudden and _insinuating_ things. What do they know? What did they see? Good heaven, is he _that_ obvious?

“Yes! We of the Valentione House come to Eorzea’s cities every year to spread and celebrate true love! It’s easy, and it won’t cost a thing, I promise! Just take these cards, fill them out, and then come have your fortune read by our uniquely trained specialists!” The cards get shoved into his hands; Alphinaud almost drops the reports. “May Halone bless you and your loved one!”

The sales pitch is over and the pair moves on to their next unsuspecting victim. Alphinaud fair rushes outside and away, mortified in a manner that he can’t explain for he isn’t particularly happy to examine the source of it. He fairly stomps his way across the adventurer’s guild and down the stairs down to the lower decks, muttering dark omens under his breath all the way.

His companion is not by the Aetheryte.

Worry twists his heart and he forgets entirely that he hasn’t thrown away the unwanted cards as he scans the area, searching for that familiar figure that’s become as dear to him as anything since their exile. The concern doesn’t fade until he espies her seated on one of the benches, gazing out onto the Rhotano Sea as gentle waves lap at the city.

She has such a perfect expression of contentment that the greeting on his lips respectfully goes silent, feet treading lightly across cobblestone. After months of harsh snows and even harsher winds in the transformed tundra of Coerthas, Limsa’s salty breeze and warm sunlight makes a strong contrast to what they have become accustomed to.

Alphinaud is not as stealthy as he would like. She glances unerringly in his direction with a smile, the shine off the ocean gleaming in her eyes. Or so he tells himself. He forgets what he was going to say and then looks down, sees paper, and thrusts it at her. Everything.

“The reports. Most satisfactory.” He blurts out. “No signs of either Titan nor Leviathan being summoned again.”

“That’s great.” She cheers and begins to turn around one of the cards to look at it. Alphinaud is staring at her hands, actually watches her do it, but doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late and she’s lifting it up and looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“I… _I am so sorry_ , I meant to throw those away!” Air has become a precious commodity that isn’t reaching his lungs. As a result his voice is going so high that he may as well turn around and leave right then, for things surely cannot get any more embarrassing. Death by mortification is a viable consequence if they do.

The Warrior of Light, his fellow Scion, friend, and _extremely_ ill-advised recipient of a desperately secret tendre, shrugs and turns the card over to look at it again. “You mean you don’t want to do it?”

Alphinaud opens his mouth and nothing comes out so he tries again, almost certain that he heard her right, which ironically is worse than being certain he’s misheard. It certainly does his heart no favors. “I--my friend?”

“It could be fun.”

Fun. Alphinaud thinks he’s never heard a more perplexing word. “I… yes. If you say so.”

He’s realizing he’s _completely_ in over his head when she takes his arm as if they were one of the many couples no doubt hopeful for the benediction of the so-called fortune tellers. This is going to be awful. Just awful. They’re going to say something that makes him wish for a hole to crack open under his feet, whether they foretell something very good or very bad.

But Alphinaud can’t help but feel fortunate that she wants to go along with it. Even if Valentione’s Day is all a gaudy farce, the weight of her hand on his forearm is anything but.


End file.
